


It's Like a New World

by Anonymous



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bounty Hunters, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Space, Blood and Injury, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Serious Injuries, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:01:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29161575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He feels like he’s part of the tellings of the elders, their narrations of old times and profound connections on a level deeper than the artificial intelligence of today’s neural networks can reach.Or:Bounty hunter Loey dawdles at an elaborate hotel bar where he meets the man who will throw his world upside down.
Relationships: Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Park Chanyeol
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26
Collections: Tender PCY Fest 2021





	It's Like a New World

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Across the Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24912352) by [r0kudaime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/r0kudaime/pseuds/r0kudaime). 



> For tenderpcyfest prompt **TPCY#84**.
> 
> Dear mods, thank you for this lovely fest, and dear prompter, thank you for your ingenious idea!
> 
> I saw the prompt and just knew that I had to try my luck. It scratched an itch I didn’t knew I had, and although im almost sure this is not what the prompter was looking for, I hope they like it anyways. Trying something with heavier hurt/comfort was on my list for a while, but I’m a sucker for fluff and lovey-dovey things, so this… happened.
> 
> Also countless thanks to my beta, W, who helped me not only improve this fic, but my writing in general. They are a huge part of this, thank you for that! All remaining errors are my own.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **TW: Violence, Blood, Injury, Light Panic Attack, Light Hints at PTSD, Light Helplessness, Temporary Loss of Eyesight**

Outside, snowflakes seem to gain in weight and size the more the evening ticks away. Chanyeol’s been sitting at this stupidly sophisticated, antiquated hotel bar for one hour already, or maybe it’s two by now? Who knows?

Who _cares_ , anyway.

The bartender, quiet in nature, has a sharp glint in his narrow eyes that only catch Chanyeol’s for a second or two. A moment later Chanyeol’s third— _okay_ , his fourth—whiskey neat appears in front of him.

Chanyeol pushes the empty tumbler away to reach for the new glass, ice-cold and frosty. Swirling the amber liquid he ponders how he’d managed to wash up here, at this random hotel bar fit for lonely business-people trying to amuse themselves and desolate cougars on the prowl for rich prey.

Honestly, he’s surprised they let him stay in the building at all after he checked in his thickly-padded overcoat with the cloakroom. The heavy combat boots under his barely business-proof slacks and the holster for his blaster less than well-concealed from all too prying eyes. Somehow the money he spends on sharp haircuts, designer leather jackets, and fancy high-tech accessories like his cybernetic chronometer and communicator beguile everyone he’s met so far.

Suho had at least commented on his looks when they’d met up two days ago, stating he’d pass every bit for a wealthy eccentric Korean businessman of the new digital age. Coming from him, that means something.

Chanyeol was waiting for some kind of notice from Suho when he’d decided that wasting some time in a bar couldn’t hurt. Aimlessly wandering the freezing streets to trudge through snow seemed the worse alternative.

Besides, even if the cold was tolerable, Chanyeol felt the need to quench his thirst with something sophisticated—something he didn’t get to indulge in at home—so this bar was more or less a no-brainer.

Work has torn most of his private life to shreds. That admittedly heavy downside has nevertheless, fortunately, come with a constant inflow of high sums of money. Somewhere along the road, the money started to console him while personal connections withered.

The current value of those seems to have lost importance over time anyhow, and he hardly knows anyone indulging in anything other than virtual means of communication. On top, eye enhancements alter what still _is_ left of reality when speaking face-to-face. Without any reason to lead a private life, increased wealth has been a replacement for relationships, so he can’t mind it that much. 

Still.

Chanyeol almost cannot remember the last time he physically interacted with someone just for the sake of it. If there’s perhaps a sensation resembling a primordial black hole inside his belly, he chooses to not acknowledge it.

Another sigh.

Checking his notification-free digital holo he sees Suho is apparently still letting him stew.

Chanyeol allows his gaze to roam around the spacious lounge again. His eyes rove over the countless illuminated bottles of colorful alcohol behind the well-stocked bar and through the lobby. A few patrons are reclining on the couches, and another man a few seats away from him is reading a newspaper on a holo screen at the bar. The bartender is polishing a champagne glass, empty gaze in his eyes.

Hearing a muffled wave of concerted applause, he sets his eyes on the large doors across the lounge. According to the large ad screens at the entrance, there’s some kind of space engineering conference hosted at the hotel. Not something he’s educated in, as he’d foregone traditional education a long time ago to follow the only road which seemed to grant him the privilege of pursuing his own way of living, free from the confines of any superior interest.

Following convention, sticking to specially-tailored-for-your-exceptional-profile career paths, and generally staying in line have never been things he’d felt comfortable with.

Naturally, he chose the opposite.

A life separate from the system, hovering below the surface, executing the dirty jobs no one wants to speak about but are so quick to pay for. Anything to not have to deal with it themselves.

As it had been, and as it is, he’s still comfortable with it. The price for his freedom is a small one to pay.

Another sip of whiskey and the conference doors across the hall open for a few people to slip out early. Inside, someone announces something that sounds like closing words and thanks, but the sound is too distorted to make out anything specific.

Why even go through all this hassle for an event that most of the individuals will be attending virtually, anyway?

He takes another sip, a longer one. If Suho doesn’t call him in the next hour, he’ll call it a night himself and conveniently check himself into one of the hotel suites.

The tumbler makes a blunt sound when he sets it onto the counter. One more drink won’t harm anyone, right?

Chanyeol’s just lifting his head to catch the eyes of the bartender again when he notices a man coming from the conference hall with firm, confident strides. He’s dressed in a suit—fairly old-fashioned and conservative if you’d ask Chanyeol—with his black hair sleek and styled, and the scowl on his face is something else.

Chanyeol cannot avert his eyes, captivated by the way the man carries himself, and when their gazes meet, the man lifts his chin imperceptibly, but to Chanyeol and his artificially enhanced eyes, it’s nothing if not noticeable. Their gazes lock.

What’s also noticeable is that the man is objectively _handsome_. And objectively pissed. And not slowing down, aiming his stride towards the bar.

A blink later and the man lets himself fall onto the barstool next to Chanyeol. With the nowadays normally universal lack of interest in personal interactions, or even the possibility of them, his proximity is sudden and unexpected. 

The man barely nods at the bartender with the tilt of his head before a tall frosted glass with a lemon slice is placed in front of him.

Chanyeol just stares, fingers lingering around an empty tumbler.

Gripping the glass, the man lifts it to his lips, tipping his head back, and empties it in two large gulps.

_Hello_. This guy’s evening must be shittier than Chanyeol’s.

He sets the glass down with a clunk, and when another one is instantly placed in front of him, the furrow in his brows smooths out, and with a silent sigh his shoulders drop a fraction.

A fresh whiskey is placed in front of Chanyeol and startles him out of his eye freeze.

The fascination that the man next to him provides has him intrigued. He fills the space next to Chanyeol like he owns it. Chanyeol feels drawn to him because of his obvious attractiveness and bold manner, and a brief rush of embarrassment washes over him. 

That is something that hasn’t happened for a long time—him getting so caught up in the presence of a stranger. He can’t remember the last time he felt so hypnotized by someone tangible. Not even before he’d gotten his eyes enhanced.

He relinquishes the empty tumbler to take hold of the new glass. Any remaining embarrassment dulls with a sip of whiskey.

“Rough day?” he tries, emboldened, or maybe just stupid, to get a conversation going. He doesn’t even know _why_. Gods.

“You have no fucking idea,” the guy rumbles, voice smooth and deep like expensive velvet although there’s a gruff undertone that speaks of his patience stretched to its limit. “I don’t know why I even bother with those fuckheads anymore.”

His colorful words make Chanyeol grin into his tumbler and he turns slightly towards the man. His attitude is rough despite his prim businesslike appearance, and he seems fearless. Chanyeol is immediately impressed by the contrast he presents.

The guy looks at him properly for the first time, and his wide eyes glow with a resigned sadness despite his slight smirk that gives Chanyeol’s heart a painful thump.

“Oh, believe me, I know. Cheers to still going strong,” Chanyeol says, deliberately lowering his voice, and wow, what _is_ his intention, for real?

The smirk on the man’s face spreads into a grin and he raises a brow in challenge. Chanyeol is unable to miss the way the man’s eyes flit over his appearance in a fraction of a heartbeat. The guy’s got some artificial enhancements for sure. No one so beautiful with a gaze so sharp otherwise.

“Cheers,” he says, fixated on holding eye contact with Chanyeol while they both raise their glasses. “May I ask your name?”

“Loey,” Chanyeol says, taking a sip.

His evening has just become so much better. Suho can wait, no matter what.

“Do Kyungsoo,” the man volunteers, “But just call me Kyungsoo. It was about time today’s conference finally ended. I have _no_ fucking idea why they still do these things nowadays. Nor do I know why I even attend when I could be doing them from home,” he scoffs at himself, glancing over to the bartender for another drink.

“I’m glad I don’t have to sit in on those meetings,” Chanyeol states, setting his glass down again. “Though I suppose spending the evening at the bar waiting for your boss to leave you hanging anyway is not much better.”

Kyungsoo chuckles. “You’re right. My boss decided to send me to the conference in his place, but I don’t have to deal with him until…” He displays a holo’s screen with the flick of his wrist, scrolling briefly through a calendar. “Until Wednesday morning, I think,” he sighs. “Though tomorrow is another day filled with mindless presentations, fucking fuck.”

Chanyeol glances over while Kyungsoo is distracted with the holo, and his eyes show him Kyungsoo’s elevated blood pressure and the spikes of adrenaline. Those could of course be a symptom of his rushed exit and the alcohol, but something in Chanyeol wants to believe otherwise. Kyungsoo spins a little on his chair, turning his body slightly towards him when he deactivates the holo and takes another sip of his drink, watching Chanyeol.

The dark flicker in his round eyes persuades Chanyeol to dare himself for once and fuel the thought that they both might draw on an inexplicable connection. Something sparking between them, powering the indiscernible currents waving in the synthesized air.

Fuck, he must be _fucking_ drunk if he’s conducting internal monologues like that.

Outside the snow is still falling, heavy flakes spiraling through the air, sticking onto the glass of the lounge. In the middle of the soft, warm illumination of the bar, Kyungsoo looks like a mythological being. One that his elders always told the kids about when they were still young and scared of the world. One of the beings called Angels, or Ethereal Sprites as they’d called them, originating from the ancient times when life had still been concrete, undeniable, tangible.

Life then, and the beings native to those times, now seem so unreal and far away that they could as well be made up by the remains of your human brain parts in your artifactual dreams.

There is not much left to remind people of the time when Earth had still been the only planet habitable for humankind. Aged architecture and protected environments only give a glimpse of the past. Humans may be born looking similar to those in the past, but that is slowly changing with the prevalent availability of body modifications.

Enhancements and adaptations to compensate for the inadequate human form have become the new standard. The more that humans mechanize themselves, the more physical social interactions lose importance. Implants and virtual reality are able to substitute for any imaginable desired connection.

Chanyeol has never really missed old-fashioned contact, as he’s been born into the new age, a descendant of one of several generations that chose to transcend humankind. Nevertheless, he has always walked the fine line of reality, and the myths of the old age have invariably existed somewhere in the back of his mind.

The myths seem so much more real in this very moment.

He’s still looking at Kyungsoo, cannot rip his eyes away, and the falling snow seems to slow when Kyungsoo catches his gaze. There’s a challenge hidden in his smirk. A spark runs down his spine. 

“So…” Chanyeol starts, feeling decelerated and exhilarated by this peculiar atmosphere between them. It’s a raw feeling, and he’s not sure to what extent the alcohol inhibits his mind, but the tender sensation of sparks provoked by their interaction and the weight of Kyungsoo’s glances cannot be anything but truly _real_. Analog. Physical. Kyungsoo has to feel it, too. Is he?

“Suppose we should make the most of tonight, then?” Chanyeol dares.

He’s aware that there’s an offer in there that he didn’t even know he craved to propose, but now that he’s aware, the thought of nothing profound happening between them here is almost painful to his heart. Gods. What has he actually been drinking all evening? 

“Fuck,” Kyungsoo mumbles, wrenching his gaze away, and Chanyeol is briefly stunned until he feels Kyungsoo’s hand on his thigh, a pleasant pressure, and he fully turns towards him. “Sounds good, Loey.” His smile is warm and it reaches his eyes. Chanyeol feels the muscles of his leg twitch under the weight of Kyungsoo’s hand.

They spend the better part of an hour talking, hushed tones, low voices, sharing little nothings over their drinks, leaning into one another, Kyungsoo’s hand a grounding promise of a connection persisting, growing. The heavy feeling settling in Chanyeol’s gut tells him something he can’t decipher, overwhelming heat spilling and sticking to his heart, and he’s _so_ sure this is something which will make a lasting impact on him and at the same time, he’s _so_ confused because it’s _so_ unusual.

Kyungsoo has advanced to stroking Chanyeol’s thigh, fingers grazing from his knee up and up and _up_ to the point of indecency when the little metallic implant on his wrist suddenly lights up, and the unexpected clench of Kyungsoo’s fingers reacting translates almost into the bone of Chanyeol’s leg.

Kyungsoo’s brows pull together and the moment he lifts his hand to check the holo Chanyeol barely stifles a whine at the loss.

“Sorry,” Kyungsoo mumbles, apology in his eyes when he looks up into Chanyeol’s with a little regret, “I have to take this. Be right back, okay?”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol breathes, forcing air into his lungs and straightening up in his seat.

Kyungsoo smiles with promise at him before he gets up and leaves in the direction of the elevators.

Chanyeol sighs.

The snow has stopped by now, and somehow it’s already past 1 am.

He shakes his head at the barkeeper’s silent inquiry.

They’d been the only guests still lingering. Considering the way he and Kyungsoo had clicked so seamlessly and how well he’d felt understood although they had only met such a short time ago, he’s still a bit stunned. Does something like this still happen today? Easy connections like that?

He feels like he’s part of the tellings of the elders, their narrations of old times and profound connections on a level deeper than the artificial intelligence of today’s neural networks can reach. Something that contains the power to make you feel connected to someone, no matter what the circumstances are.

And.

The tension he felt when Kyungsoo’s hand had reached up a little bit further on his thigh, the man so confident in his contact, had made sparks shoot down Chanyeol’s spine every time. The way he didn’t shy away from him leaning over, from meeting his eyes, holding his gaze, his lower lip caught between his teeth more than once. There _had_ to be something between them, something indispensable.

Chanyeol sighs, heavily, butterflies mangling his guts. When Kyungsoo comes back he’s going to suggest taking things up to a room, maybe. He’s no stranger to bodily pleasures, although he probably _is,_ at least considering actual physical interactions with a real person. Virtual reality is age-old standard and it’s synthesis with neural networks is so advanced he should be no novice.

It still _feels_ like he is, concerning the magnitude of his feelings of being drawn to Kyungsoo. He tastes anticipation like he hasn’t in _ages_.

Just then his holo lights up. A message from Suho.

_Finally_ , regrettably. But, why _now?_ Fuck. Maybe Chanyeol can conveniently postpone the assignment to the next day.

Still, he opens the message and sees the regular _Wanted_ profile of a bounty. With a groan of annoyance on his lips, he skims his eyes over it. 

The bounty is on some whistleblower, but their MO is stealing sensitive information from companies then erasing any traces of the information anonymously. The profile mentions the target is operating under an unknown organization, so they aren’t alone. Among the things they’ve stolen, military-grade intel stands out as the justification for the considerable bounty of twelve billion. It seems high for just one person but it’s reasonable considering the sensitivity of the crimes.

Chanyeol scrolls down to check the attached pictures.

Air stills in his lungs until he has to choke to not faint.

The bounty looks _exactly_ like the man he’s just developed an infatuation with. _Kyungsoo_.

Although the alias he’s listed under is _D.O._ , there is no doubt it’s him. The big eyes, the line of his jaw… Chanyeol would have recognized him even if he hadn’t just spent the better part of an evening studying the lines and planes of Kyungsoo’s face with a dedication bordering on madness.

_Fuck_.

So there is a catch. _Always_.

Beside the fables the elders had told them as children, they also had warned them not to fall into one. To not let their remaining human traits get the better of their superior artificialities. He’s almost tempted to throw caution into the wind.

Chanyeol’s jaw throbs from how tight his teeth are clenched, and releasing that tension springs his whole body into action. He’s going after Kyungsoo. He can at least _try_ to get to know what the hell Kyungsoo did to end up on Suho’s wanted list. What the _fucking_ fuck.

Chanyeol is used to expecting the worst. Always. He does not fantasize about optimistic utopias. He’s supposed to be a realist, but he doesn’t _want_ to give this up. He can’t. _He won’t._

_Fuck_. There _has_ to be a reason.

It’s what the elders had warned them about, but he’d abandoned listening to their ramblings. Until today when he let himself get off track in the face of the emotional enigma Kyungsoo provided. He feels torn between what’s real and what’s artificial, between what he should believe and what to better ignore. Never has distinguishing been so hard.

Nevertheless, he’s better off seeing for himself. Whether it be fairytales from ages past or recent bounties from an interplanetary intelligence agency.

He’ll find out and then make his judgment.

The bartender hardly blinks at Chanyeol’s sudden departure. 

* * *

His pounding footsteps echo down the corridor leading to the elevators. Just one more turn. 

The soft ping of an elevator proceeds a loud thump and Chanyeol flies around the corner and—there’s _Kyungsoo_.

A blue holo shield in front of his left and a blaster in his right, Kyungsoo stands between Chanyeol and some guys in high-tech black combat gear, complete with shielded vests and helmets. Their figures flicker in and out of visibility, concealing their movements allowing them to teleport at light-speed. He doesn’t recognize the uniforms, but they are extremely advanced. Chanyeol has only once seen such technology, when he’d undergone brief training with Suho some time ago. 

But what’s also barreling into the forefront of his mind is— _they have_ _blasters_ , oh _fuck_.

Chanyeol barely has wrapped his fingers around his blaster before there’s deafening noise and screams and the sound of charged gunfire—

White-hot light bursts right through his stomach.

It tears right through his insides, left of his spine, a laser-like spear of molten electricity shooting straight through and out of his back and it feels like a blazing burn tearing his middle in two. As fast as the ray comes it has passed, and he watches splashes of red _spraying_ from his belly like he’s a spectator of himself. It soaks into the thick carpet, imperceptibly, until the amount is significant enough to darken the fabric under his feet.

Chanyeol looks down and lifts his hand to where his leather jacket sports a hole the size of a walnut. His fingers come away shining wet and bloody. There is a clean circle burned through the black leather and fused into the silky material of his white undershirt, edges glued together and onto his skin. The smell changes to that of charred flesh, diluted by the metallic tang of blood soaking into his clothes.

There’s a worrying tingle in his spine, radiating from the shot wound towards his middle like little laser pinpricks.

His hand starts to shake and spots appear in the outer vision.

“ _Loey_!” Kyungsoo shouts, firing his blaster, the noise cutting brightly through the stale air, and Chanyeol doesn’t know why Kyungsoo is looking panic-stricken, jumping towards him in flashes, and the grip he has on Chanyeol’s arm is painful bordering on torturous.

“Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol groans, and, “fuck!”, and Kyungsoo is brutally twisting his arm and his belly feels funny and he finally has his blaster freed from the holster and points it towards the men in black combat suits—

“Loey! _Here_!” Kyungsoo barks and Chanyeol finally comprehends that Kyungsoo is trying to tug him back towards the elevator, but his legs, his _legs_ _won’t cooperate._

More multicolored dots start framing his vision.

His training is ingrained in his bones. Muscle memory and artificial neural-routines allow him to do what he’s trained for and he somehow manages to stay upright, setting one foot behind the other, backtracking and giving them cover while Kyungsoo presses them back harshly.

Firing his blaster, he hits one of them twice, and then another one, and then Kyungsoo is screaming and crashing the fire alarm and shoving them into the elevator, repeatedly slamming a combination into the control panel.

The doors close while Chanyeol continues to fire, and when they’re shut Kyungsoo slaps him hard across the face.

“Loey! Stop!” he shouts, his blaster plummeting to the floor with a clatter and he’s _shaking_ Chanyeol’s shoulders and simultaneously pushing him, pressing him against the mirrored wall.

“Stop, stop! Oh _fuck_ , Loey! Why did you have to fucking come after me?” he growls, and there’s sweat on his forehead. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated and there are silver lines running across his cornea that connect to blue on the skin around his eyes, and Chanyeol doesn’t know why he can’t _breathe_ anymore.

“K’soo,” he huffs, and _god_ , why does his body feel so distant? The sparks in his vision transform into black holes.

“Loey,” Kyungsoo shouts again, breath hot on his face, and pinches his cheek, gripping his jaw. “You’re in shock, you’re injured, those bastards hit you,” he rattles off, and Chanyeol suddenly feels the loss of sensation in his legs and cannot hold himself up any longer.

“Loey! Don’t you faint on me!”

“Soo…” he tries to look down between them and discovers there’s a blaster proof vest under Kyungsoo’s white shirt, his blazer torn along the shoulder and his arms and he’s gotten hit as well, and oh _god_ , where is all the blood coming from? There’s something wet all over his stomach and it slides down his hips, slippery red, white hot.

With trembling fingers, he touches his belly, and when Kyungsoo pries them away to press his jacket onto his belly, they’re glistening in the cold white light of the elevator.

“Fuck, this will hurt, sorry, I have to,” Kyungsoo says and Chanyeol barely comprehends anything before Kyungsoo leans against him and presses against his stomach and the pain he feels is _excruciating_.

He hears someone cry, and there’s _so_ much pain, he cannot see anymore, and he shouts until he feels a hand press over his mouth, slippery warm—

“Fuck, Chanyeol, try to be quiet! I know it seems impossible, but _please_ , try. I’m going to help you, here,” Kyungsoo says, and shoves his empty blaster magazine into Chanyeol’s mouth.

“Bite down on that, it will help,” he gruffs, shaking him and pinching his cheek again until Chanyeol feels he’s able to direct his blurry vision at Kyungsoo again.

He feels dizzy to the point of unconsciousness, or like the last time he had been to the association to get his new eye. The medications altered his consciousness and put him through one hell of a drug trip, hallucinations and nausea included. Still, when the meds had worn off and the painkillers set to work, it had been so cozy… white… warm… no worries at all. Ah, he better lie down—

“Please, Loey, don’t go into shock. I’m not going to leave you alone. I’ll help you. Just have to make it outside, my driver is waiting for us.”

Chanyeol feels Kyungsoo tug at him, keeping his body from completely doubling over somehow, and he screams into the plastic of the magazine when Kyungsoo presses his stomach harder still.

“ _Don’t_ you faint on me, Loey,” Kyungsoo threatens, knocking his forehead onto Chanyeol’s.

Chanyeol feels disoriented, he can barely see anything through the haze of his tears and fuck, why are there so many tears, artificial eyes don’t need them anymore, and _fuck_ , why does his belly hurt so much? Also, why is it _so_ cold suddenly? He feels like he’s freezing, his hands are slippery, he cannot hold himself up, and black vignettes are framing his vision. Kyungsoo’s breath is hot on his face. It feels like a caress against the opposing forces harrowing his body and mind, a welcome solace providing warmth to counter the prickly icy harshness of his pain.

After another agonizing timeless moment, Kyungsoo tears him away from the wall where he’s been quivering and pulls him forward, and now he’s doubling over, crashing to the floor. His head hits something soft before he slides to the floor, and the pain drives him to curl together on the concrete. Oh, fucks sake…

There’s icy moist air around him and he comes to himself again with Kyungsoo cursing into his ear, flicking his face, and dragging him up.

“Loey, _fucking_ fuck! I said don’t give up on me!” he growls at Chanyeol and Chanyeol briefly thinks that he’d find that really rude if he wasn’t so preoccupied with the pain tearing his abdomen in two.

He tries to make a funny comeback but chokes on something wet, and he coughs and it’s _agony_ and then there’s wetness on his cheeks again, half-freezing, and he spits, and Kyungsoo’s face looks so white, and then there’s a loud screech and someone shouts something angrily and then Kyungsoo just drags him and pushes him into the pod, and he’s crying in soundless screams of his strained vocal cords. Everything is blurry, hot, ice-cold at the same time, but there’s a warm hand on his forehead, and then warm air circulates them and then, silence.

He hears Kyungoo say something that sounds relieved, feels warm fingers adjusting his head on a soft backrest, and thinks if _Kyungsoo_ is with him, he can just close his eyes for another moment. He’s so fucking _tired_.

* * *

A sharp burst of pain so strong the cry gets stuck in his throat. His body startles awake and everything is bright. There’s a throbbing ache in his head, another rolling in waves through his body. The center of all is a torturing sore sensation in his middle, a burning inferno that spits needles of pain into every limb, pulsing up his chest into his mouth and he feels like he’s choking on laser beams. His nerves are too frayed to distinguish if he’s burned or frozen alive, body wrought past the point of exhaustion.

Where is he, what time is it, and why is it so fucking cold here? 

Tears want to escape his eyes but none are left when his body can only focus on the pain. He realizes the hoarse cries vibrating in his chest are his own attempts at breathing. Squinting his eyes to fight the blinding lights he realizes he’s supine and unable to move. 

A disembodied voice filters through to him, but it sounds warped, and the reverberations in his head are so loud he cannot understand a word.

Fuck, his stomach _hurts_ like he has been gutted, and he cannot feel his feet.

Devastated by the lack of control, he tries to lift his head, but it won’t cooperate. He heaves an ugly sob.

Someone must notice his struggle because there’s a warm huff of air on his face. Someone murmurs something and he feels a soft pressure on his forehead, and his brain supplies that it must be a kiss. What reality is this? 

The light envelopes him as he goes into dreamless nothingness.

* * *

Soft. White.

Someone is quietly humming a melody. Someone with a smooth, low voice. It slowly filters into his mind, soothing raw nerve endings like dipping them into silky coolant.

Chanyeol tries to move, flexing his fingers until he brushes against cables and tubes. His body obeys now. There’s no more pain. There’s not _anything_.

He tries to open his eyes. Although he can feel his lids fluttering, he sees only more dulled white. He moves his head to the side to get a new view, but still sees nothing beyond a graying mush.

Even with reluctant muscles, he lifts his hands. His fingers make contact with his face and he can feel his lashes fluttering on his fingertips. He rubs his eyes, but still, _nothing_.

A groan tries to leave his throat, but it comes out as a silent huff.

He tries _again_.

Nothing but air.

A weight creeps onto him again, panic rising, and he tries to vocalize with more effort, but it only forces air through his throat more vigorously. He feels cold sweat accumulating on his forehead, hand getting clammy.

The humming melody abruptly stops.

Steps approach and fear overcomes him. He cannot _see_ anything, why is there someone else with him? _Who_ is it, _where_ the fuck _is_ he?

He starts thrashing, and finally, a whine comes through. He cannot do anything else but turn his head away from the steps, honest to god whimpering into his hands, burying deeper into the bedding.

“ _Loey_ , it’s okay, I’m here,” the soft voice says, and it’s—Kyungsoo? Another whimper escapes, body trembling uncontrollably.

There are hands gently patting his body over the covers.

“Loey, you’re okay. No one will harm you here. You remember me?”

Chanyeol manages a nod, rubbing his face into the pillow. How could he ever forget someone as remarkable as Kyungsoo?

Oh, _fuck_. The _bounty_. The _fight_. 

The next second his mind illuminates the back of his eyelids with endless blazing blaster fire, a violently strobing light show. A laser beam strikes so brightly in his mind he feels truly blinded, and the torrid smell of molten leather and skin, torn fabric and the iron tang of blood fill his nose. Nausea threatens to overwhelm him for a moment, and he starts shivering, on the verge of hysteria.

He was shot, and there was so much blood, oh _fuck—_

The trembling won’t stop and he feels tears sliding down his cheeks, soaking into the bedding.

What happened? Who attacked them? How is he not dead? Why… the fuck.

He tries to curve into himself, but he can’t make the muscles move, the pain in his abdomen abrupt and immobilizing. He whimpers again. A warm hand gently touches his elbow, and he startles, but it manages to ground him, and reminds himself, it’s just Kyungsoo.

His warmth is so enticing, and his body gives another involuntary shiver. Chanyeol sniffles and then turns his head towards Kyungsoo.

“Loey, I’m here with you. You don’t have to fear anyone here. It’s been three days since we escaped the hotel. I took you to a friend of mine, Sehun. He’s the surgeon who patched you up.”

Kyungsoo seems to hesitate. When he speaks again, his voice is lower. “ _Fuck_. You lost so much blood. I—I thought you wouldn’t make it, but…” he heaves a huge breath. “You did. I’m _so_ sorry for what I put you through. Had I known that those thugs were hiding there—” he cuts himself off again.

Chanyeol wills his body to stop trembling.

“Can you speak?” Kyungsoo softly inquires.

Chanyeol tries. He clears his throat a few times.

“Here, drink something.”

He feels a warm hand on his cheek, softly guiding his head around, and then there’s a cup on his lips, lemony tangy smell, and he feels liquid and he fumbles, grasping for it, and then gulping down the contents. He’s fucking parched.

A cough forces itself up and he wheezes until the urge dissipates, and when he tries to form words again, it works.

“ _K’soo_ ,” scratches past his tongue, and he blindly grasps into the air, until Kyungsoo catches his hand, fingers wrapping around his. “K’soo—my, my—my _eyes_ ,” he whispers.

“We had to use a solution to protect them during surgery. You had lost so much blood, and the surgery took so long—your vision will return in a few hours at maximum. It’s going to be okay, please, trust me,” Kyungsoo says, thumb stroking the back of his palm.

“Where are we?”

“Company housing, in an apartment owned by my employer,” Kyungsoo supplies. Chanyeol searches for his other hand and feels the bed dip when Kyungsoo sits down. “My… actual employer, as you might have figured by now.”

Chanyeol only manages a hoarse cough.

“We read your ID chip and the visual information your artificial eyes logged, so I know your actual profession as well. And, _well_ , about your current job.”

Chanyeol quells the urge to pull away. Had he not had both of his hands occupied by holding onto Kyungsoo’s he might have indulged, but Kyungsoo is not only holding his hands. He is clutching them like his life depends on it, drawing tight circles over his knuckles.

Unease twists through his head, and he presses it into the pillow again, squeezing his eyes closed. Fucking artificial intel.

“So… then why didn’t you dump me when you found out?” Chanyeol needs to know, voice still achy and scratchy.

Kyungsoo sighs. For some reason he imagines him rolling his eyes. Or frowning in that stern way of his.

“Actually… dunno,” Kyungsoo starts, and Chanyeol starts to get _annoyed_ that he cannot see his face. “Maybe I knew there was something behind the way you make a living. First-hand experience, or something.”

Chanyeol sighs, he’s suddenly tired. He fears this discussion. When he’d first laid eyes on Kyungsoo, the whole fucking trainwreck of their jobs had not been something that he’d thought would pop up on the agenda. Of course, jobs are not things to discuss with someone you consider a potential lover. At least not on the fucking first date, and certainly not when you're not even sure it's not just a one-time thing.

This is also the reason why he always tries to keep any new contacts and acquaintances he makes to a bare minimum. Bounty hunting is nasty. You don’t go kiss and tell with a profession like that.

Still, what remains is: Kyungsoo _knows_ about him.

_He_ knows about Kyungsoo.

He’d _also_ considered Kyungsoo as a lover…

The thoughts in his brain filter out one by one, leaving only a single one remaining—The prospect of both of them hitting it off between the sheets. Fucking fuck.

“Loey,” Kyungsoo murmurs, bringing him back, “I won’t hold your job against you. But—”

“Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol rasps, “I don’t give a fuck about pursuing the bounty. I owe you and your friend my life. I hope you know that!” He feels hot in the face from exerting himself, his hands becoming sweaty. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Kyungsoo doesn’t relinquish his hold and briefly tugs on Chanyeol’s hands. “I know.”

“My job is just a fucking mess. I’m an outlaw. I don’t owe _anyone_ shit,” Chanyeol hisses, agitated. With his next breath, his unease leaves him feeling drained. “Except you,” he adds, voice barely a breath.

“Loey, it’s okay. I _know_. I—I have this ability—I can see the truth if I use my… my ability a certain way. It’s why I do for a living what I do. It allows me to distinguish what’s real and what’s just projected, what’s tangible and what’s virtual. I use it to contribute to conserving knowledge about our true origin, the roots of ancient humankind. My organization keeps and maintains the records of the old age, so that the knowledge never gets totally erased from collective memory. It’s hard, because virtual realities are all that everyone is interested in, and whenever we publish something, officials work their hardest to eliminate any traces of it. But I still try to help and use my ability to preserve the truth. Or what remains of it. Still, when we brought you in, I had to use my skill on you, so I know about your job, and about your true beliefs.” 

Chanyeol gasps, his mind is spinning. Old age knowledge?

“I won’t _ever_ do it again. You can stay here until you’re fully healed. I will personally see to it that you are taken care of. Still, you’re free to leave whenever you want to,” Kyungsoo continues.

“K’soo,” Chanyeol breathes. He hadn’t even thought about leaving. At the moment he cannot fathom how he’ll be able to, anyway.

What’s more pressing is the information Kyungsoo has just told him of. “It’s—it’s real? The tellings of the elders?” His bounty job is almost forgotten; what does a bounty matter anymore when he is now able to make sense of everything?

He has always _wanted_ to believe in the fables of the elders in some ways, and what he’s experienced since he laid eyes on Kyungsoo forms the proof to his intuitions.

“Yes,” Kyungsoo breathes, “Those stories are what’s left of the knowledge, I’m glad some of it still seems to stick to the minds of people nowadays. We try to spread the philosophies of the old age, but it’s like one drop in the ocean of controlled obliviousness. Sometimes I think it’s futile… but then I remind myself I have to keep on. Hacking into databases to insert little pieces of wisdom into the masses and hope something sticks...”

Warmth fills Chanyeol. “Wow,” he whispers, dazzled by how everything has turned out so far.

“Loey, please stay,” Kyungsoo starts, and Chanyeol wonders suddenly how he’s not already discovered his actual name. Or maybe he’s just waiting for him to tell.

“It’s Chanyeol,” he offers, voice low. “And I can’t see, so how would I even know how to leave? Not that I’d want to. I’d rather stay.”

“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo starts, loosening his grasp to link their fingers together. “I’m glad,” he says, “I hoped… you would.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Fuck, I thought I’d never see you again after I got the call and had to leave you at the bar… _gods_ , I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to get you injured, either… but you know that.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol sighs, turning his head towards Kyungsoo on the pillow. “Thought that evening would have gone differently. Still, you’ve got so much to tell me now.”

Just as he considers throwing a lame joke to lighten up the mood, he blinks, and his eyes feel wet all of a sudden. He blinks again and blurry shapes color his vision.

Kyungsoo’s breath hitches as he notices the change. “Your eyes,” he says, lifting a hand to smooth some strands of hair from Chanyeol’s forehead off to the side.

Chanyeol cannot say anything as the gaussian blurred image in front of him sharpens into recognizable structures.

It takes a moment, but Chanyeol watches in awe as the picture of Kyungsoo in front of him—and he’s _so_ close—arranges itself, brain interpreting the dimensional blur, and _finally_ he can see Kyungsoo in all his glorious high resolution in reality.

His face is as handsome as he remembers it, eyes dark and wide, eyebrows scrunched together with concern, dark shadows lining the tender skin below his eyes.

Chanyeol lets his gaze wander over Kyungsoo’s face, and what a blessing it is to have Kyungsoo as the first thing he’s able to see. He feels his eyes strain, but he does not dare to blink.

The corners of Kyungsoo’s mouth are slightly turned down and _fuck_ , his lips look _soft_.

Chanyeol heaves a relieved sigh that seems to shake Kyungsoo from his thoughts, and the worry is replaced with relief as his expression smooths out, and he looks tired but _so_ fucking good.

Kyungsoo runs a hand down the side of Chanyeol’s face, the look in his eyes otherworldly and Chanyeol cannot interpret it, has no reference, aside his artificial eye database providing him with hints like: Safety, protection, fondness— _love_?

_Oh fuck_. Heat blooms in his chest, spreading through his body, and blood rushes in his ears.

The reflection of himself that he can see in Kyungsoo’s eyes tells him he’s looking at Kyungsoo exactly like that as well.

His gaze slips down again, focusing on Kyungsoo’s mouth, and he feels the need to hold his breath when Kyungsoo’s lips part almost imperceptibly.

“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo suddenly breathes, “I _really_ want to kiss you.”

Heat blooms in his chest and trickles down Chanyeol’s spine like a smoldering trickle.

“ _Please_ ,” he strains, breathless. 

His mouth falls open to the first touch of Kyungsoo’s lips on his.

He feels his eyes flutter closed again, warmth spreading into his limbs, and Kyungsoo holds his face so carefully it almost hurts. His lips move but the kiss is over almost as quick as it happened.

Kyungsoo hovers centimeters away from him, and he’s touching his forehead to Chanyeol’s again, and Chanyeol remembers the kiss he felt while he was awake momentarily before, and a hot burst of desperation and longing crashes into him.

He lifts his hand and grabs onto Kyungsoo’s nape, tugging him in to join their lips together for another kiss.

This one is not soft and chaste like their first, and Chanyeol is surprised at himself, at his recklessness, but he _needs_ this. Needs _Kyungsoo_ like this. He hadn’t known he could want someone _so_ much.

Their mouths are open and Chanyeol sucks on his upper lip—that fucking _amazing_ upper lip—and flicks his philtrum before plunging his tongue into his mouth again.

Kyungsoo matches his frenzy, sucking on Chanyeol’s tongue so _good_ , fuck. A raspy moan tears itself out of Chanyeol’s throat, and Kyungsoo swallows it down, biting his lower lip. 

Kyungsoo tastes divine. His lips so soft, his tongue wet and wicked, and his teeth sharp. He’s fucking gorgeous.

Chanyeol kisses him with all he’s got, feeling the rush settle his anxiety, and fuck _yes_ , they’re both still here, they can both work it out, and _gods_ , he still might have a chance with Kyungsoo.

Fuck, it’s so good.

They part shortly, only to dive into another deep kiss, tongues twisting. Chanyeol allows himself to give in to Kyungsoo plundering his mouth for all it’s worth, licks behind Kyungsoo’s teeth, tickles the roof of his mouth, just kissing him to convey what he’s not sure how to say yet.

They slowly come down from their frenzy. Passionate kisses turning to shorter licks, softer pecks, smoothing skin against skin, Kyungsoo stroking Chanyeol’s face, tangling his fingers into his dark hair.

Chanyeol trails his fingers down Kyungsoo’s neck, toying with the collar of his sweater when they eventually part.

“Wow,” Kyungsoo rasps, eyes hot on Chanyeol. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do that…”

“Think I do,” Chanyeol quips with a little smirk, letting his eyes rove over Kyungsoo’s figure.

Kyungsoo huffs a laugh.

“But still, you have to rest. And I have to sort out that shitstorm at the conference…” he sighs.

Chanyeol toys with the fingers of his left hand, a weird feeling settling in his stomach. As soon as everything’s settled, they will have to part, won’t they…?

“And then?” Chanyeol dares to ask, “I mean, I won’t pursue that bounty, so… I guess I’ll look for another…”

Kyungsoo looks thoughtful, not apprehensive, and Chanyeol feels the dread that crept onto him dissipate a little.

“Yeah, I thought about that as well. As far as I see it, we’re both not really on the side of the law anyway, and you’re free to do what you want, and that holds for me as well. I don’t think our professions generally intersect, so…” he hesitates, looking at Chanyeol.

Chanyeol makes up his mind.

“I know it’s stupid, but I like you,” he proposes, blush creeping onto his face. “You saved my life, and I owe you for that, but aside from that, I was already enamoured when I first saw you at the hotel,” he admits, voice dwindling until it’s just a whisper.

Fuck, why is he still that embarrassed when they made out just minutes ago like there was no tomorrow?

“You’re cute,” Kyungsoo grins. “I like you as well. When I saw you at that bar, I somehow knew you’d be different. Didn’t hurt that you’re fucking hot too,” he adds, and when Chanyeol looks at him, he’s also wearing bright spots high on his cheeks.

Chanyeol feels like he’s glowing, blood still rushing through his body, warming his ears and his cheeks.

“Then it’s settled, I assume?” he ventures to ask, and peers at Kyungsoo, worrying his lips between his teeth.

Kyungsoo lightly slaps his hand, rolling his eyes, but his smile is beautiful.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning closer again and pecking Chanyeol on his nose before he lets himself be caught by Chanyeol in another kiss again.

“Stay with me a little longer?”

“Of course,” Kyungsoo breathes against his lips, warm, and Chanyeol gladly loses himself in the pleasure of kissing him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I could have selected a dozen titles for this one, it was a mess deciding on one. The title I settled on is from NCT 127’s song Day Dream, whose somewhat (to me) reverent, chilled, dreamy atmosphere I liked so much that it stuck.
> 
> This fic is inspired by rokudaime's wonderful [Across the Stars](/works/24912352/) that sparked my desire to also do a ChanSoo-space fic. It's amazing, go give it a read.
> 
> Have a nice day and take care!


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